


Dreams Through Waking

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something unexpected was going down, and I had a feeling that there was nothing I could do about it--assuming I even *wanted* to do anything but sit in Jim's bed. For maybe the rest of my life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams Through Waking

**Author's Note:**

> Every story still feels vaguely experimental. This time I was playing with mood. Tell me what you think--criticism, praise, whatever should be sent to randomxtangent@aol.com 

## Dreams Through Waking

by Tangent

Author's disclaimer: They're not mine and never will be, no matter how many falling stars I wish upon. 

* * *

I was dreaming of the ocean, of myself and Jim lying on the shore of a sea that crashed with the regularity of a heartbeat, and a storm came in. But the skies remained unclouded in my dream; we laughed with delight as white lightning snapped across the blue. It looked like the atmosphere above us was a bowl, with delicate cracks in fragile porcelain. 

But thunder followed and I woke, aware instantly that Jim was standing in my room, chest bare, pajama bottoms low on his hips. "Jim?" I whispered, and my room was lit by lightning; he wasn't there. He hadn't been real. 

The storm was real. Outside the windows, it rattled and snapped and cracked like something enraged and frustrated by the fact that we were safe from it. I knew that Jim was awake; storms always kept Jim awake. He'd told me once that he could feel the lightning every time it came, that each strike raised the hair on his arms and made him shudder a little. I was more fortunate in my ability to sleep through anything, but then I'm more fortunate in my weaker senses. 

The thunder came again as I scrambled free of my tangled sheets, as I bolted up the stairs to his bed. There was this feeling in my chest which told me that no, nothing was wrong, Jim was fine, but there was a little corner of my mind that still insisted he needed me and I've never been able to say no when someone asked something of me. To hold back what they would have me give. I've always considered it something of a personality flaw, until I moved in here and learned that yes, generosity cuts both ways. 

Jim was awake, lying on his back, his hands tucked beneath his head, sheets and blanket pooled around his hips. When the lightning struck again, his eyes gleamed, very nearly feral. Seeing him like that made me nervous, just a little, and I took a step back. "Jim?" I whispered. "Jim, are you all right?" 

"I can smell the lightning," he said. "But I'm fine, Blair." 

I shivered. He said my name the way no one else in my life had ever said it, as if it were more than a name and just barely less than an endearment, as if it was an important word and meant something wonderful. As always, it drew me in. 

"Storm keeping you up?" I asked, and he nodded. I took the final step back into his space, a few more, hesitant. "Me too," I confided, and then the lightning flashed brighter than I had ever seen before, making me jump. Jim didn't move though, just went on looking at me like he was still saying my name; it practically rang like the thunder in the air between us. 

I sat beside him then, on his bed, curling my legs up tailor-fashion and facing him. He moved over a few inches so that my knees were pressed against his ribcage. I could feel his every breath. 

"Storm got right into my dreams before it woke me," I told him. 

"What were you dreaming of?" 

"The ocean. The sky." I smiled at him, still feeling a little nervous but trying hard to keep it from showing. "Me and you on vacation, I guess." 

Just that quick, I went from being studied closely to being _pinned_ by his gaze in the half-light of the storm. I caught my breath and then coughed to cover it, inched backwards just a little on the sheets. "Busy day tomorrow," I said lamely, ducking my head so that my hair hid my face a little. My fingers twisted his sheets and smoothed them, twisted them, smoothed them. I wanted to suggest that we have a busy night, too, and wondered what kind of little demon lived in my heart, that made me so desperately desire things that were never going to happen. 

"Busy days don't bother me after sleepless nights," Jim murmured, and I could have sworn that it was an invitation, but I was wrong as often as I was right when it came to figuring someone else's codes of desire, and I wasn't going to chance anything with him, anything at all. Not only was he large enough and strong enough to kick my ass into the ground, he was also...too important. 

Too important to seduce. 

That had never happened to me before; I had never been able to say to myself, no. This person means more to you than sex, means more to you than closeness, means more to you than anyone else in the world. If staying with him meant staying platonic with him, then I would do it. 

Still, on more than one lonely night between substitutes and stand-ins and women who _should_ have meant something, I liked to waste my time dreaming of the impossible. 

I said to Jim, "They bother me, man. I don't get enough sleep as it is." 

"More than you got when you were teaching and working with me at the same time," he said, and his face had tightened a little, I could see it clearly thanks to the lightning that crossed the sky. 

"True, true," I said hurriedly, because I wanted to stay up there with him, in his bed, even if we were just talking. It felt...good, to be so close. "But I never had to go running after criminals if I didn't want to then." 

"Meaning you don't want to run after them now?" he asked, and I groaned. Sometimes, every word out of my mouth is wrong and I have to remind myself that me and Jim, we don't exactly think alike. Something that seems pretty obvious most of the time, right? Wrong. We act in sync even when we're not _thinking_ the same things, and I forget. 

The fact that I was impatient with _myself_ barely kept me from snapping at him out of annoyance. I said, "Not what I meant, Jim," and inched back on the bed a little, preparing to rise. But he seemed to fill space and then we were touching again without him having had to move. I don't know how he does it, but the man has made a hobby of that, a habit of one minute being a safe distance away and the next minute being right in my face. 

"Then what _did_ you mean?" he said, all patient and quiet and I groaned. 

"It's too early in the morning for me to mean _anything_ ," I told him, then shuddered as lightning lit the room again and highlighted the tense, expectant look on his face. Something unexpected was going down, and I had a feeling that there was nothing I could do about it--assuming I even _wanted_ to do anything but sit in Jim's bed. For maybe the rest of my life. 

Then Jim reached out, real fast, and the next thing I knew I was lying beside him on the bed, my legs tangled, my breath lost in a quick oomph. 

"Hey, man," I complained, straightening my legs out and struggling to sit. You'd expect Jim to have a mattress like a rock but no, the guy sleeps surrounded by feather pillows and a down comforter and marshmallow soft padding. Between that and the grip he took on my arm, I wasn't going anywhere. 

"You drive me absolutely fucking crazy," he said, and his hand was rock hard on my arm, steel, iron, the grip unbreakable--and yet gentle. 

"I drive you crazy?" I was incredulous. "Jim, man, you don't even know half of what crazy _is_. Now, let go so I can go back downstairs, bury my head under some pillows, and get some sleep." 

He turned onto his side and tugged me over onto mine. We were just far enough apart for breathing, and too close for comfort. "Bury your head in the sand, you mean," he said, and I blinked. 

"About what?" I said, grumbling, complaining because that was...safe. 

"You want to go downstairs so you can hide from me," he said silkily, and I _had_ to look at him. 

His eyes were fixed on me in the darkness, focused and intent, but it was like Jim wasn't home. The jaguar was there, a living presence, stalking across his face and whispering dangerous things in his ear. A million things made sense just that fast, and it didn't surprise me at all when he rolled over and pushed me down, when he settled across me, when his mouth buried itself against my neck. My head lolled back and my suddenly weightless arms rose to cross behind him and before I could even think about stopping them, my thighs spread and my hips tilted, actively seeking the crush of his dick against my own. 

I didn't even notice the storm anymore. There was too much electricity in the bed, between our bodies. He was hard against me everywhere, and I was hard against him, and for a while I felt powerful, strong, content to rub against Jim and shudder and come. But a niggling worry had crawled inside my head when I wasn't looking, and it began to whimper with me until I was saying, "No, Jim. No. We need to talk about this. Or something." 

He backed off, barely. "Talk is cheap when I've got your scent on me," he said, all dark and powerful and fucking _scary_. His hands kneaded my skin, gentle, finding little sore spots and soothing them, finding little sweet spots. I arched up, mindless even as I worried. 

Then he said, "So no matter where you run, I'll be able to follow. No matter how deep you hide, I'll be able to find you. I've got _you_ now, and I won't give you up. Whatever you have to say about _that_ can wait, because we have time, and you're not getting rid of me." 

And that was exactly what I'd been dying to hear him say, although I hadn't known it. I could feel it in my heart, like a click, and that little voice in my head started whispering yes, yes. Jim would never leave me alone and Jim would never push me away again, and Jim could be forever if I was strong enough to take him on. 

But he had to know that I was a risk. A chance. "I could screw this up, Jim." Desperate, I tugged on his ears until he was looking at me. "I could screw this up _bad_." 

He smiled, teeth gleaming dully as more lightning shuddered across the sky. "We could screw this up," he said, too easily, like that wasn't a problem. "We probably will. But we'll fix it because that's what we _do_ , Chief," and he dropped his head again, nipped the curve of my shoulder, his teeth gently worrying my skin. "This is who we are," he breathed, and I closed my eyes. 

This is who we are, I thought. This...is us. Jim and Blair, making dinner, making conversation, making love. Making mistakes and fixing them. Fighting and making up, building a relationship. 

"I've been waiting for you forever," he said, and I smiled. 

"I'm here now," I told him, sliding my hands across his powerful shoulders. "I'm here. Maybe I could stay a while?" 

He laughed a little, then his clever mouth was lazy and gentle on my nipples. "Maybe you will," he said when I was done moaning. "I don't plan to let you go anywhere." 

But not going anywhere in bed with Jim was like going around the world, real fast, so that everything was a flash of light and glory and earthiness. For all I knew, we were in Paris or we were in the Congo or we were on the moon. 

Boxers and pajama pants were gone, slipped away. There was just Jim's taut skin, the way his body moved over mine like warm water, the muscles in his back beautiful under my fingers. My own body was liquid too, but I was painfully aware of every inch of it, in the beginning a little nervous about releasing it to Jim because really, I could have been spending a little more time in a gym. 

Then Jim's big hands were curling around the nape of my neck and the back of my thigh, and I was looking at myself reflected in his eyes, and I forgot that I had an imperfect body of my own because Jim had laid a claim on it and offered me his in return. That was good and I took full advantage, touching him everywhere I possibly could because I could. Because we both wanted me to. 

Eventually, I ended up sprawled crossways on the bed, my head hanging over the side, Jim between my thighs sucking me like he'd been thinking about it, planning it forever. I came back to myself long enough to register the fact that I was getting dizzy--God only knew why, since I was just hanging over the edge of a bed while my dick was being enthusiastically tongued--and I gasped his name. Twisted around until I was right side up again and could move over him. Said, "This is strange strange strange," while cupping his dick in my hand, getting nicely acquainted with it. 

"Come on in; the water's fine," he rumbled, voice low and purry and dead-certain. Then he was pouncing on me again, and that was it. I was lost until long after the storm had died down, until Jim's heartbeat beneath my ear sounded calm like the waves of my dream and Jim's blue blankets were curled around us like the sky. 

"I was never going to let this happen," I muttered, then pressed a kiss to the intriguing little hollow of his collarbone. 

"That's what I figured," he said calmly. "I could practically see you thinking that when you came up here." 

"That Jim-the-fucking-psychic routine of yours is pretty annoying," I said and then I bit him, just a little. He started laughing like I'd made the best joke ever. "What?" I asked, then started to laugh too because I'm just like that. "What's so funny?" 

"Fucking psychic. That seems pretty apt." 

"Whatever, man." I sat up and brushed my hair back with my hands, staring down at him as predawn and post-storm light filtered into the loft, staring until he had finally stopped laughing. "You're such a jerk," I said then. "Where'd you learn how to ruin a moment, huh?" 

"You were going to ruin it first by getting all introspective on me," he said before tucking his hands behind his head. He looked so smug that I wanted to just start...chewing on him. Or something. 

"Yeah, well. Pardon me for getting all thinky about having abandoned my little plan to keep this platonic." 

"That plan. Jesus, Chief, I've been waiting for you to abandon that plan for years." 

I rolled my eyes at him. "How was I supposed to know that, Jim?" 

"Well, I made it pretty obvious." He still looked smug and superior, so I gave up and settled beside him again, curling into the blankets and his body heat. Summer in Cascade, still so cold I get goosebumps. 

"Obvious like a grain of sand on the beach," I muttered, which didn't make much sense but felt right anyway. 

"Obvious like eyes on potatoes," he insisted and I pinched him, then yawned. I was in his bed, and I was recovering from a pretty spectacular orgasm, and I was going to take a nap--screw obvious right into the ground. 

"Go to sleep," I muttered. "You're bugging the crap out of me." 

"I think I'll stay up until the alarm." Savoring this, I thought when he reached over and tangled his fingers with mine. He's going to stay up and let this seep in. Good for him, but I'll seep later. 

I fell back into dreams easily, as if I had never woken up, but the heat of Jim's body assured me that I had. I finally had. 

* * *

End

 


End file.
